Friday, December 28, 2007

I have been in contact with toy, who sent me a long and very eloquent (as always) email. When I asked her about sharing it with another blogger, and she agreed to that, with the caveat that I would "know" my audience. And so, if you'd like to see the email, please email me directly at swordfish155@aol.com, and I'll forward her beautiful and wonderful response.

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Within the last week or so, I lost three blogs that I used to check in on regularly. I usually prefer to communicate with bloggers directly, and only sometimes leave things in the comments area.

The first was a blog I called Gidget, a youngish woman in the SF Bay area, who, with her boyfriend, were determined to be a D/s couple, and were just starting out. They went at it studiously, and stayed together through several setbacks. She stopped posting in early November, and when I emailed her directly, she wrote back to say that her muse had left her, and she wasn't going to post anymore.

The second blog was something called Lies and Guys, run by a sub named Bailey, who had astonishing insights from time to time, and shared some very personal parts of her soul in unique ways. She took her blog private, as when I try to access it, I get the message that I'm not part of the invited guests.

The third blog to go MIA is Toy's exquisite blog, MarriedMansFuckToy, one that was so wonderfully personal and intimate, and incredibly well written, that I went way back to the beginning of her tale and read all of it. She was able to share her entire journey as a sub, and the depth and involvement of her submissiveness was truly personal and revealing. I also emailed her, but have yet to hear back.

I miss all of them, all for different reasons. And I know that bloggers are under no obligation to tell their readers anything other that what they want them to know and read, but I'm always wishing that when bloggers decide to retire they would tell us when they do.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

It would be nice to say that I went back the next night and finished what I had started, but in truth I didn't.The sex had been brilliant, and looms ever larger in the legend of my own life in my own mind. All of you English majors out there will recognize (or should anyway) the initials in the title of this post---William Wordsworth nailed it on the head when he spoke of Emotion Recollected In Tranquility, and the acronym has stuck with me since my undergraduate days. I got to engage in lots of different kinds of sex that She doesn't see as part of her world, especially with Her ever decreasing libido.But there's a baggage charge involved in paying for sex, even when it's a commonly accepted practice in the part of the world you're visiting. There were experiences that I wanted to have, acts and feelings that would never been available to me, and so I had taken a very deep breath and plunged in, knowing that I couldn't unring the bell once it had sounded.

And I'm still trying to figure out if it was worth it, not monetarily of course, but emotionally. I still get rock hard thinking about what I did, and how easy and simple it was. And then the moralistic part of me rises up, and I start dealing with guilt feelings about paying for sex.

And I'm still trying to strike that balance, where I can reconcile what I did with how I feel about doing it.

I leave for the gym early in the morning when I go, a habit left over from the days when I ran a lap of Central Park every morning in the dark. Today it was about 35 degrees, winds calm, sky dark but getting brighter. As I ran on the treadmill, and it's a good sized gym, a woman came in, wearing a short winter jacket, furlined hood, midriff bare and tan, low lying lime green paints, hanging low enough on her hips so that I could see the dimples above her backside.

And so I'm asking again, am I supposed to look? Is my eyesight, and head, supposed to follow her from left to right as she walks past? There was obviously some thought put into her clothing for the morning...it's well before 7 AM, and it's not something that she just threw on to come to the gym and work out...I know that I have to lay my clothes out the night before to make a speedy exit, and I can see the women that put on the first Tshirt or top on the top of the pile.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

We sat still at opposite ends of the bed, both of us hidden in our own thoughts for a moment, her skin shining ever so slightly with a tiny sheen of perspiration, I with an erection that seemed a mile long and that begged for attention. I struggled mightily to hold my hands at my sides and not in my crotch, as we both caught our breaths. The bed was soaked, and would be uncomfortable for either of us. She stood up after a moment or two, smiled again, and gestured towards the straightbacked chair in the corner of the room and the small towel lying across the back of the chair. Spreading the towel across the seat, she motioned to me to sit down, and I made my way across the room, my cock waving in the air in front of me. She reached into her bag yet again, and brought out a condom wrapped in gold foil. Fearful that I would cum right in her hands, I took it from her and smoothed it on, unrolling it as cautiously as I could.I had wanted to have sex with her in ways that I didn't with Her, and doggy style sex from behind was what I wanted...not anal sex, just sex from behind, held tight by her butt and legs, and so I sat down, with my legs spread slightly, and she backed up to me, reaching down between her legs and grasping my cock at the base, guiding it up to her opening, her legs wide outside of mine, standing on tiptoes. Ever so slowly, she put the tip of my cock into her lubed opening, using her other hand to spread herself wider, and then she started to sink down on me, pushing her butt back and down, until she engulfed me fully, suspended on my lap, her feet dangling just a bit in the air, making movement difficult for either of us until she hesitantly brought first one leg and then the other inside of mine, grabbing my penis in what felt like a vise like grip, finally putting both of her feet on the floor, pinning me to the chair. I reached around her and grasped her breasts, cupping each on in a hand, unconsciously rolling the nipples between my fingers, feeling them harden in spite of themselves.And then she started to contract her muscles deep within herself, gently at first. It felt like I was being pulled inside her by some unknown force, somehow massaging the top half of my cock, now deeply imbedded inside her. She hunched forward slightly, putting her hands on her knees, breathing slightly deeper, as she continued. It felt like she was pulling me deeper and deeper inside her, but I was unable to move. Then the contractions became stronger, and stronger, until I could wait no longer, and I came, finally remembering that I hadn't really been breathing, exhaling forcefully. She continued to flex for a moment or two, draining me of whatever cum might be left within me.Finally, we detached, she reaching down to remove the condom, now full, using the towel to wipe me dry and then to wipe her own thighs and groin down as well, and we were done, at least for the moment. The money had long ago been taken care of, and I added generously to it. I mentioned to her that I had to fly out the next evening, that I still had more things on my mind, inquiring what time she started work, for after all it was work for her, certainly not a date or anything like that.And we agreed on where and when I could meet her the next afternoon.

Thursday, December 6, 2007

Yesterday, my Boy called to tell me that my daughter-in-law had miscarried for a second time in two years.This has taken the wind out of my sails in a major way.I'll be reading blogs and comments for a while, but perhaps not writing.

Monday, December 3, 2007

Am I Supposed To Look?I do indeed understand that I grew up in a time when less flesh was on view, and the only way to see women's body parts was either in Playboy or in an anatomy textbook. Times have changed and I know that. But I'm unclear about whether I'm supposed to look at cleavage, at boobs escaping out of a blouse, at navels winking at me above waistlines of jeans that seem to have 1" zippers. Case in point---on my recent trip overseas, while flying from Bangkok to London, I moved to the very front of the plane so that I could make a quick (as quick as possible) connection in London. A fellow traveler with a similar need also moved, and sat down next to me, with most of her breasts exposed over the top of a scoopnecked shirt, enough exposed and open to view so that I could see most of her bra (white, shelf, wide separation, front closure), and I was having a hard time not conversing with her breasts, which were great looking. This past Thanksgiving, my nephew and his wife and new baby came to dinner, among others, she nursing and with a similar amount of exposure as my traveling friend. And she's family, well sort of. Am I supposed to stare, or am I supposed to ignore what I'm seeing? Ladies, ya have to help me out with this one.

Cell Phone UseI spent 15 minutes this afternoon on a bus, caught between (among??) three cell phone talkers, all in different languages, all talking at much less than sotto voce. And being in New York, I tolerated the intrusion into the time that I wanted to spend reading. In Berlin, almost nobody is using cellphones for the amount of time used here in NYC. Nobody is walking down the street having conversations out loud, as if they need to be committed. I can't know if it was just Berlin, or whether New Yorkers are just out of control with wireless communication, and much more out of control than Europeans. But someone's blackberry went off on the subway last week, and that person had a conversation while riding on the subway underground.

About Me

This blog will contain, from time to time, entries some may deem suitable for adults only. If this makes you uncomfortable, please leave now.
I'm self-employed, in a long term relationship with Her, but constantly questing for new experiences of all sorts. I'll try almost anything, at least once.
I'm a New Yorker, born and bred, and as such I'm very dependant on vocal inflection, which is hard when you're writing. But I'm trying....